


Out of the Rain

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11271843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: It’s a miserable day—cold, wet, and windy. Fortunately, Mycroft is never far away.“Mycroft Holmes. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be under your surveillance.”“Who said you were under surveillance? Perhaps I was just in the area.”





	Out of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Out of the Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966964) by [BubbleSnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleSnake/pseuds/BubbleSnake)



The heavy rain thrums a steady beat on Greg's umbrella, and he wonders why he’s still living in this godforsaken city. It’s a miserable day—cold, wet, and windy. The folding umbrella does little to protect the rest of his body from the rain; his trousers are soaked up to his calves, dripping onto his socks when the material can absorb no more, and his feet squelch sickeningly with every step.

Out of all the days Sherlock had to exercise some common sense, it had to be today. Although it’s more likely that he has John to thank for that. 

Unfortunately, it means that wrapping up a case has taken his team an hour, where Sherlock could have directed them to the appropriate evidence in 5 minutes. Sally’s taken the police car straight to St Bart’s for further investigation on the evidence, and a few of the juniors are clearing the scene, leaving Greg to walk back to the Yard to get a head start on the relevant paperwork for this case

On a normal day, he would have relished the opportunity to spend some time outdoors, to have a much-needed breather from his office and responsibilities, but today is far from normal. What should only be a leisurely 15-minute walk may as well be a 15-minute swim upstream now, given that the roads are deluged by the heavy rains.

With a weary sigh, Greg forces himself to take the first few steps--cringing with every squelch of his feet—keeping as far away from the road as he can to avoid any splashes caused by cars.

He’s almost convinced himself that it’s not too bad when a strong gust of wind blows in his direction, instantly turning his flimsy umbrella inside out, until its reached a state beyond repair and usefulness.

“Oh, for fucking fuck’s sake,” he mutters, making a run for the nearest covered area. His ruined umbrella joins hordes of others in the rubbish bin.

Amid tossing up between waiting until the worst of the downpour is over or risking the rest of the walk back, a non-descript black car pulls up beside him, driving slow enough as to not splash him. The window rolls down halfway to show a familiar face on the far side of the backseat.

Greg's face breaks into a brilliant smile. After stepping into the car and rolling the window back up, he shrugs his Mac off, determined not to ruin the car's expensive upholstery any more than is necessary.

Once settled, he turns to face his rescuer. “Mycroft Holmes. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be under your surveillance.”

“Who said you were under surveillance? Perhaps I was just in the area.”

“And perhaps today is just a sunny day,” counters Greg, matching the incredulity of Mycroft's explanation with one of his own.

The corners of Mycroft's mouth turn up in amusement. “Perhaps indeed. I apologise, Inspector Lestrade, I would have come here earlier, but I thought you would appreciate this.” He reaches for the steaming paper cup nestled in one of the car's cup holders and passes it to Greg.

“You're a lifesaver, you know that?” Greg clasps the cup in his hands gratefully, letting the warmth seep into his frozen fingers and the aroma fill his senses. The first sip has him closing his eyes and sighing in reverence. “Bloody hell, Mycroft. Amazing stuff, this.”

“I trust it was worth the wait?”

Greg thinks about wet socks and upturned umbrellas, and then mysterious, black cars with steaming cups of coffee stashed in cup holders. Keeping his eyes closed, he smiles wistfully. “Definitely.”

Just as he’s finished the dregs and is returning the empty cup back into the holder, the intercom crackles. “Sir, there’s traffic up ahead.”

“Of course there is,” murmurs Mycroft. “What do you suggest, George?”

“It will be faster for the Inspector to walk from here.”

“I can walk from here; it’s not far.” Mycroft starts to protest, but Greg is quick to intercept. “Any further and you’ll be stuck in the thick of the traffic before you can turn back in the other direction.”

“Just a moment, please, George.” He turns off the intercom and then reaches for his umbrella, leaning against the car door. “Then I insist you take my umbrella with you.”

“I can’t take this! It’s your most prized possession, isn’t it?”

Mycroft sniffs. “Hardly.”

“But I never see you without it.”

“As it is a necessity when one lives in London.”        

“Oi, I own a big umbrella!” Greg says defensively.

“Which currently resides in your office or at your flat, I’m sure, where it won’t be any help to you to cover the remaining distance from here to the Yard.” Mycroft turns the intercom back on momentarily, having come to a decision. “George, pull over, please.”

“Well--”

The car comes to as top, and Mycroft gives one final push. “You can return it to me tomorrow, when the weather has cleared up.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes—dinner, 7pm.”

Realisation dawns, and Greg chuckles. “Mycroft Holmes, did you orchestrate this encounter just to ask an old copper out on a date?”

“I can assure you that my duties to Queen and Country do not include weather control,” Mycroft says dryly.

It doesn’t slip past Greg’s attention that Mycroft hasn’t exactly answered his question. Nevertheless, the deflection is telling enough for him. “That’s a pity. I don’t think I need to tell you that I would really prefer clear skies tomorrow evening for our first date, do I?”

“ _Inspector._ ”

“And I should hope I won’t need to tell you that we should be on a first name basis if we’re having dinner together.”

“Gregory?”

“Hm, not quite, but better.” Deciding that he’ll have ample opportunity to continue teasing Mycroft tomorrow, he puts his hand over Mycroft’s and squeezes gently. “Thanks so much, Mycroft, for picking me up, bringing me amazing coffee, and lending me your umbrella.” And because he can’t resist, he adds, “Does Sherlock know how thoughtful you actually are?”

Mycroft groans. “I must insist that there be no mention of my brother over tomorrow’s dinner. Now off with you. In my personal experience, rarely does paperwork ever do itself.”

Quickly shrugging his Mac on, he concedes. “Alright, alright.” As Greg shuts the door behind him, he opens Mycroft’s umbrella, immediately shielding him from the downpour of rain.

Perhaps today isn’t turning out to be too miserable after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise my [writing tumblr](ivefoundmygoldfish.tumblr.com) is more active than my AO3. Marginally.


End file.
